ღ Gravity of Love ღ
by Mudstar4ever
Summary: What if Katniss had fallen seriously ill and rendered exempt from the reaping? Who would be present to take Prim's place as District Twelve's female tribute? In an alternate story where Katniss never volunteered in Prim's place and she is to compete in the 74th annual Hunger Games, friendships are forged, enemies made, and impacts are left on the nation of Panem.
1. Prologue

Friendship is precious . . . But it also has the potential to inflict lifelong wounds. And not all wounds become scars.

One is never truly content when they are alone. They may feel a sense of relief to temporarily evade the scornful judgment of their peers, but the independent mind lacks the ability to properly develop and reach their true potential without the constructive criticism and guidance of a reliable source. Everyone needs that outlet of expression where they can connect with someone who is similar to they are where it matters. It is not an exaggeration to say that one is truly themself when they are interacting with a friend, because friends have the capability of encouraging you to open up and profess any bottled up feelings and sentiments. Sometimes one does not realize that they have found the answer within themselves until they have drawn the conclusion before the friendly face of a close companion. True friends are irreplaceable and the conception of losing someone so dear to your heart is simply unbearable to think about. Even when it becomes a reality.

The bond that I have with my sister is unusual. In this world that we live in, relationships between siblings vary greatly, but not even the closest of family members would ever think to sacrifice their own life for their kin. It isn't so much selfish as it is an act of fear. The annual Hunger Games are cruel and menacing and they conjure up the most disturbing methods of ending your life. The opportunities of surrendering oneself in the name of someone you care about are few and far between and often in the moment of revelation, we are unable to find the strength within ourselves to follow through with our crusade. From the events and experiences of my life, I have been shaped into the individual I am today – stronger and more ambitious than ever before – because of my sister. Losing her left a void in my heart that could never be replaced, but it also strengthened my resolve to live and to fight. If there's one thing I have learned from my life, it is this:

Sacrifice is the ultimate expression of love.

One whose debt can never be repaid.


	2. Chapter 1

Gale POV

Without her even mentioning it, I can tell that something is up.

She's just a little off, her normally alert eyes glazed over and unfocused. Her pensive expression, sharpened with intense concentration and yielding to the patience of a skilled hunter is slack with fatigue. Where she usually dances with impressive stealth over the leaf-strewn forest floor, she shuffles just a tiny bit, her movements decreased in speed, her thought process slightly muddled.

Your normal, everyday person would rarely pick up on details like that, but as a hunter, I have to pay close attention to my surroundings, including my partner. Especially if she's risking our game. But Katniss isn't one to complain; in fact she's hardly said a word since I encountered her at our rendezvous point this morning. She managed to shoot a squirrel, though she had already missed two earlier today, which is not the eagle-eyed Katniss that I know.

Sometime in the mid-afternoon, I suggest we take a break and she is only too eager to agree. We sit and lean against the boulder that overlooks the valley, popping fresh blackberries in our mouths and sipping from our canteens, not speaking a word. One thing I've always appreciated about us is our lack of need to talk. Silence speaks volumes and it's almost as if we communicate telepathically, which would make sense since our thought processes have been conditioned as the same over time. We're about as comfortable together as two friends get, but I can't help but wonder if this is what life has in store for us in the future. Perhaps Katniss and I are destined to remain hunting partners for life and to look after one another and our family. I'm sorry, did I say famil_y_ _singular? _I meant famil_ies plural._ At least, that's what I've had a tendency to tell myself.

Katniss pitches forward suddenly in a sneeze, which is soon followed by two more. She leans back again, sniffling, and I let it drop. It's when I hear the dry rasp in her throat and she turns and coughs a little into the crook of her arm afterward that I turn and rest my gaze on her.

"You're coughing." I say simply.

She doesn't meet my eyes, merely shrugging her shoulders in response.

I study her face closely as she strips a bramble branch of its berries with inexplicable fascination. Her pallor is fairer than usual and there is a soft glow of blush on her cheeks, similar to the kind that appears after we've gotten into a friendly, but heated banter amongst ourselves or perhaps after we've run a particularly long distance through the woods with our bows slung over our shoulders, our chests heaving.

I shake my head and say nothing, but my eyes don't leave her sickly appearance. I let the silence drag on for a few seconds longer before the bite of the cool breeze catches my attention. I lift my gaze to the dark clouds swirling above us and frown. I hadn't expected the weather to turn nasty on us all of a sudden. Another gust of wind triggers an updraft from the valley to slice through our clothes and suddenly we are both shivering.

"We should head back soon," I mutter, my eyes on the sky.

When she glares at me, the sharp fire that is characteristic of her anger burns through her clouded gaze. "Why would we do that? I only have a squirrel."

I soften my voice a little. "I have a rabbit and two birds already, remember?"

"So? I've only caught one thing today!"

"So you're having an off day. Everybody has them," I say, frowning as she turns away in disgust. She can be so stubborn and competitive at times, but only with herself. It's not a contest as to who catches the most prey between the two of us, but she sets such high expectations for herself that it makes it difficult for her to accept when she hasn't met her self-appointed daily quota. I notice the goosebumps on her arms and sigh. "Look, let's just call it a day. We'll go out again tomorrow."

She shakes her head stubbornly. "We won't be able to trade anything with this, even if we divide up the shares."

"Well, we really don't need to be stranded out here by a storm," I snap, deciding to just come right out and address the elephant in the room.

"Fine, you go then." Katniss growls. She rises to her feet, brushing the dirt off of her pants. "I'm going hunting."

I sigh and shake my head. "Fine," I say exasperatedly, jumping to my feet as well. I grab my game bag and follow her back onto the trail, shaking my head in defeat.

The rain begins to fall sometime before sunset. By twilight, we are huddling beneath a tree in a torrential downpour. The forest rumbles with the sound of heavy raindrops and thunder ruptures the sky. I lean against the trunk of the tree, looking for any sign that the storm could be letting up soon, only to find a poor prognosis.

Katniss leans heavily against the tree, her body visibly trembling. Her eyes are half-closed and her hair and clothes cling to her thin frame, giving her the appearance of a drowned rat. She folds her arms across her chest, scowling. Frustration burns bright in her eyes and she wrinkles her nose in self-disgust. I can't help but suppress a small grin. A tiny frog skips into our line of vision and I grab her arm suddenly, feigning excitement.

"Quick, shoot it! We could get a whole loaf of bread traded for that!"

She glares at me, but can't maintain its level of hostility and finally sighs in defeat. "Alright, you win." she says, her voice cracking slightly.

I smirk at her playfully. "Should've listened to me before,"

She rolls her eyes, but says nothing. We make the long trek back in silence, our arms pressed against our bodies, shivering as icy sheets of rain pummel our bodies. As usual, we pause to listen for the telltale hum of the fence and to our displeasure, the electricity is on.

"Dammit," she grumbles, coughing.

I scowl at the fence, as if willing it to shut off and admit us entrance. After a few futile heartbeats, I turn to her and usher her back into the forest. We run across the Meadow, our footsteps sloshing through mud puddles, and take shelter beneath a tree. Technically, this is the last thing we should be doing during a thunderstorm, in terms of safety, but we're too cold and too tired to care. Since we're already soaked to the bone, we both sink to the muddy ground and wrap our arms around one another to try to quell our trembling.

After what feels like a lifetime, and after we have muttered every bit of colorful profanity that District Twelve has to offer, the electricity dies off and we are able to slip under the weak base. By now it is well past nightfall and we slip through the darkness of the Seam toward our houses. As we pass by my own humble abode, I hesitate, wondering if I should walk her back home.

"I'm fine," she says, as if reading my thoughts. "I can make it back alright."

"You sure?" I shout over the rumble of the shower.

She nods and I raise my hand in farewell. I quickly step into my doorway, turning to rest my gaze on the fleeting figure whose silhouette melts into the relentless sheets of rain.


	3. Chapter 2

Katniss POV

I'm not surprised to find that Prim has waited up for me. I have, after all, arrived considerably later than I usually do. Though it's hard to tell from the menacing storm clouds outside, I can only assume that it is well past dusk fall. I step into the hallway and promptly shut the door, somewhat muffling the rumble of rain and thunder from outside.

"Katniss?"

I narrow my eyes against the dim light and am able to barely make out the silhouette of my sister in the shadows, her round face illuminated by the soft glow of the candle she clutches in her right hand. She sets it down on the table and crumples into my arms. I hold her close, but then gently push her away from my soaked body.

"The Capitol chose a rather ideal time to electrify the fence," I croak with a wry smirk.

"I was so worried about you," Prim says with a slight tremor to her voice. I recognize the sharp contrast of distress highlighted in her ice blue eyes. "I thought maybe the Peacekeepers—"

"No," I say firmly, though my voice catches painfully. I clear my throat and shake my head, squatting to her eye level. "No, Prim. I will never let that happen," I smile crookedly at her. "I wouldn't go down without a fight. If you hadn't already heard of a mass riot being incited by a psychotic sixteen-year-old girl by now, then I can assure you that nothing bad has happened to me."

Prim manages a smile.

"Are you hungry?" I prompt.

Prim nods, but stops me as I try to pass by her into the kitchen. "Change out of your clothes first."

I ruffle her hair a little and head to my room to change. Upon my return, I notice that my mother and Prim are already waiting for me at the dinner table. I sniffle a little and sit down gracelessly to a bowl of cooked dandelion greens, raspberries, and the skinned remains of the squirrel that I caught today.

"Not the best weather to hunt in, is it?" my mother says in her quiet voice, her eyes trained on me almost obsessively.

I can tell that she's carefully gauging my response, hoping not to offend me or set me off in any way, though in reality her comment invites me to snap back. Is she insinuating that what I've brought in for a catch isn't good enough for her? Exactly what did she do today to contribute? Snatch a couple of handfuls of weeds and toss them into a pot of boiling water? I bite my tongue and manage to swallow my temper.

"We've fared worse," I mutter in a tone that warns her to back off. She drops her gaze immediately.

The silence drags on for several minutes, but I consider it to be the healthiest conditions in terms of my relationship with my mother. We're closest when we're not speaking to one another, withholding from me the opportunity to abuse words as tools of warfare against her. I sniffle and carefully clear my throat, resting my eyes upon my sister, who fidgets in discomfort.

"So tell me, my little Kineks," I say quietly. "How was school today?"

My affectionate nickname for my sister is Kineks, which means 'rosebud' in the Native American language. Prim calls me Kay, which means 'elder sister', but everybody else just thinks that she is calling me 'K', as in the letter that my name begins with. When my Prim and I were very young, my father used to tell stories about the Native Americans, the people who roamed these lands even before the other continents raided North America, leading to its eventual detriment hundreds of years later. He would tell us what words meant in their language at our disposal and Prim and I had even gotten to the point where we would call each other by our Native American names. It's like speaking in a secret code that no one else knows about. A secret confined to my sister, our father, and myself.

Prim looks up at me with an introverted expression of rejection. "Pretty boring. What about you?"

I clear my throat again and swallow past the bitterness of the dandelion stalks, oblivious to my mother's pained expression. "Me? School for me was just peachy." I flash a wink at my sister, who manages a small giggle.

"I bet," she murmurs, smiling at me demurely.

I carefully scrape the bottom of my bowl greedily, my stomach feeling emptier than before I even sat down for dinner. I sigh in dissatisfaction and push myself up from the table, collecting my family's dishes as I head to the sink. I turn and toss a washrag at Prim, chuckling as her uncoordinated hands fail to grasp the cloth before it crumples to the floor.

"I wash, you dry?"

Mischief dances in her eyes as she smirks at me. "Fair enough."

I plunge my hands into the icy depths of our sink and scrub vigorously at the dishes swimming in soap. After thoroughly exterminating any remainders of our pitiful supper, I pass the bowls to Prim, who carefully wipes them clean, setting them to the side with gentle movements. My sister. This is the delicate little flower that I've vowed to protect. The thought of anyone or anything even so much as contemplating the idea of inflicting harm on the innocent features of the child before me ignites a dark flame within my core that I've found difficult to quell. I watch her hands work gracefully, purifying the plate that I myself polluted. Feeling a rush of protectiveness impress upon me, I turn away from my sister. I attempt to clear my throat, but my breath catches in my throat and I cough into my sleeve.

Without looking at her, I can feel Prim's eyes on me, but she says nothing. We finish the dishes and I turn to face her, prodding her on the tip of her nose playfully. "Let's get ready for bed, shall we?"

She mirrors my grin and readily takes my hand as I lead her down into our only bedroom. There, our mother is dutifully preparing our bedspread. Prim mumbles a soft thank-you as she crawls under the sheets with a childlike demeanor and curls up beneath the covers.

"Not going to brush your teeth?" I ask, bemused.

Prim merely peers at me from beneath the hem of her blanket, her cobalt eyes shining with innocence. I roll my eyes and crawl under the covers with her, sniffling slightly. She snuggles up against my chest, her head resting in the nook of my shoulder blade, and closes her eyes. I'm just starting to feel the persuasive tendrils of sleep drag me under when a sharp tickle in my throat causes me to break off into another cough. I shift away from my sister slightly.

"You know what, Prim?" I whisper. "I think you should go sleep with Mom tonight. I'm not feeling too well."

I catch a glimpse of the hurt in Prim's eyes, but there is also concern evident. "Are you okay? Do you think you might be coming down with something?"

I smile and ruffle her hair affectionately. "I'm fine. I think I'm just getting a cold, that's all."

She frowns, looking more upset about the fact that we can't sleep together tonight than the fact that I'm getting sick. "Okay. . ."

She rises from the bed and joins my mother across the room, who manages to catch my eye. She gives me a curious look, but I negate her impending question by turning away from them.

"Good night, Kay."

I smile to myself as I hear the small voice of my sister. I can feel her absence from my bed like an empty void in my heart, but I remind myself that it's always better to stay safe. "Good night, Kineks."

* * *

My night was rather restless.

My slumber was continuously punctuated by vivid images of nightmares that have already been obliterated from my memory, leaving me gasping for breath and confused, then plunging into another period of fitful sleep. By the time dawn rolls around, I am exhausted. I am awakened by a cool hand on my shoulder and I stir to see my sister's face hovering above mine, her eyes softened with concern.

"Katniss?" she murmurs in a quiet voice. "Katniss, it's almost time for school."

It takes a few seconds for her words to penetrate my drowsy state, but when they sink in, I feel panic ignite my heart rate. "What time is it?" I say hoarsely, hastening to get out of bed.

"Almost 7:15," Prim answers. I can feel her curious gaze score my face; very rarely have my mother or Prim gotten out of bed before me. I usually wake up at the crack of dawn and either go hunting or make breakfast and lunch for Prim and myself before school. Having to arouse me just fifteen minutes before school starts is something that Prim just simply isn't accustomed to and this startles her. "Katniss, are you alright?"

"Yeah," I say. "Sorry, Prim. I had no idea I overslept."

I trudge across the room and slither into some old cargo pants and a dark brown V-neck shirt, slip on my father's old hunting boots because I can't bother to try to find my own in such limited time, and push past my sister into the bathroom. I run a brush through my hair and find a rubber band to tie my hair up in. Prim leans against the doorframe, a sly smirk brightening her features.

"Not going to brush your teeth?"

I glare at her playfully in the mirror. My fingers fumble with my hair as I attempt to braid it and I feel frustration threaten to engulf me. I swear loudly and Prim steps forward to take over. I rest my hands on the sink in defeat and surrender to her nimble fingers.

"Thank you," I sigh, breaking off in a bout of harsh coughing that leaves me breathless.

Prim peers around my head so that I can see both of our faces in the mirror, her eyes wide with alarm. "Are you okay?"

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are puffy and shine an unnaturally bright shade of red. My face is pale and my cheeks have a faded blush to them. Faint shadows caress the bottom of my eyes. Overall, I look just about as sick as I feel.

"I'm fine."

Prim's frown deepens, but she doesn't press the subject. She finishes braiding my hair with a flourish and then takes a step back. "We don't have time for breakfast, but you could probably grab an apple to go?"

I turn away from the sink and cross the kitchen toward the front door. "No thanks," I say to both Prim and my mother, who hovers by the kitchen table with an inquisitive expression. "Not hungry."

My mother and Prim exchange a look, but I've already slipped out the door. "Hurry up, Prim, or we're going to be late."

We break out into a run as we near our school building, but as soon as we pass through the front doors, a wave of nausea washes over me. I clutch the wall for support, my head pounding against my temple.

Prim skids to a halt in surprise. "Katniss?"

"I'm okay," I say shakily, waving her off. "Just go to class."

"Are you sure? Because if—"

"Go!"

Prim shoots me one last look of regret, then turns and hurries down the hallway, disappearing through a doorway. Students file past me as they hurry into their classrooms, but I branch off from the crowd and trudge into the bathroom, relieved to find it empty. I desperately push through a stall and just barely manage to lock it before I'm on my hands and knees, retching over the toilet bowl, gagging as the sharp taste of bile scorches my throat. After being violently ill for a couple of minutes, I remain clutching the base of the toilet, trembling. I use the walls of the stall to push myself to a standing position, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washes over me. I let out an inaudible moan as I lean against the frame of the stall, my head throbbing with every protesting beat of my heart. My already sore throat burns fiercely with the taste of vomit and I'm almost positive that I'm running a temperature. I swear under my breath and wash out my mouth from under the sink and stumble out of the bathroom, only too aware that I'm late for class.

I don't know why I even bothered to get out of bed today. Then I remember: in honor of Reaping Day being only two days away, today and tomorrow's class times were devoted to watching the monumental moments of past Hunger Games. These days were critical if you wanted to study tactics or survival tips in anticipation that your name may be reaped. And considering that there are twenty slips of paper in the reaping ball with 'Katniss Everdeen' written on them in careful handwriting, I can't help but feel anxious enough to want to watch these preparatory tapes.

It's with this frame of mind that I manage to square my shoulders, hold my head high, and push through the door into my classroom where I know I'm only stepping into a day of complete misery.


End file.
